Update

I've hit the Pause key on the War in the Wild series as you may have noticed. (Note that that is what I call it over on the Fiction of the Chant page. Sometimes I refer to it as the Wilderness War series, consistency isn't exactly one of my virtues.) You probably also know why, if not, read this.

We knew it was coming, in cat years Sasha was 84 (17, almost 18, in actual years), her kidneys were failing/had failed and she was getting weaker by the day. There came a point where she was no longer enjoying life and we could see the pain in her eyes. Something which was impossible to bear any longer.

Her sister Anya, same age, same litter, in fact they look like twins but for a couple of minor details, is still strong and healthy. While she isn't as spry as she once was (who is?) she has managed to avoid most major ailments (she experienced a bit of a scare a year or so ago, but with the right treatment she got back to full health in no time).

She too has noticed the absence in the house. While as kittens they were inseparable, over the years they became competitors. Sasha was the alpha cat, Anya accepted her role as the beta, after all, that meant more work for Sasha. (Who was a mouser extraordinaire.)

Oddly enough, for the first eight years of their lives, Sasha was my cat (more accurately I was her human) and Anya was The Missus Herself's constant companion. I'm still not sure why that changed, but it did.

So this loss has been correspondingly tougher on her. While Anya still keeps tabs on me, The Missus Herself has lost her constant companion. She was also the one who made the call regarding that final trip to the vet. It tore her up, yes it did. But it was the right call.

During the whole affair I wanted to scream "Stop, this can't be right! Surely there is a way to fix this?" Knowing all the while that there wasn't. This sort of thing is inevitable. Death, much as we hate to admit it, is part of life. There is a cycle to things, all that lives must eventually die.

It was tough getting to sleep Monday night, replaying things in my head, trying to figure out if there was something we could have done differently, all the while Anya is wondering what I'm doing up so late. "Damn it Dad, we've all had a rough day, go to sleep."

Which eventually I did. Only to awaken in the morning to realize that the nightmare wasn't a dream after all, it was real. Painfully real.

Not my first rodeo, I've been through this before with people I've loved as well as cats and dogs I've loved. It never gets easier, in fact it might get harder, at least that's my experience.

Bear with me as I adjust to this new life, it's going to take time. On top of all that I'm traveling for business in mid-July. Three weeks in Sandy Eggo, at least I'll get to see the kids and grandkids living out there. I had been looking forward to the trip, funny how life throws things at you that you'd rather not have to go through.

How soon I get back to the War in the Wild depends on many things, not the least of which is my motivation to be creative. I'm motivated to write, just not that way. It takes time.

I may spend some time telling tales of my felines over the next cuppla, it depends.

Thanks for all the kind words in the comments yesterday, it helps.

I have some of the best readers...

It Was Too Soon...

The cat in the picture, that's our Sasha. We had the pleasure of her company for almost eighteen years.

She's gone...

My heart has gone with her...

I will be taking some time away from the blog...

I just don't have it in me at the moment...

This pain shall pass, eventually...

Adieu my sweet baby, I will miss you until we meet again on the other side...

My sweet Sasha Bear...

Independence Day*

 Hope all y'all had a great Independence Day celebration.  I took Sarah Hoyt up on her challenge this morning over my pre-church coffee.  I read the Declaration of Independence in its entirety.  I've read parts of it before and probably read the entire document in school at some point, but this time, in this day, it seemed to ring home a bit more than before.  

I urge you to do the same.

But, that got the day started, then there was church.  The closing hymn was "God Bless America".  I do like that song.  I was blinking quite quickly at the end. Then, because Mrs J and I were riding with DIL to church, she got to decide on brunch.  Went to a nice little place and had a Brisket Breakfast Burrito that kept getting bigger the more of it I ate.  At that point, we went home changed clothes and drove back to town.

Why?  Beans, I thought you'd never ask.

The powers that be in the City and County, I think, recognized that the public was pretty much fed up with WuFlu and its effects on life in a free country.  Meetings of the two entities have been getting more commentary lately delivered in a more clearly understandable demeanor.  If you know what I mean. So, they went ahead and scheduled the first parade down Main St since the hoopla started in October 2019. Normally, there are 3 per year.  Independence Day, County Fair day and a night parade, which is generally the first Friday in December to start the Christmas celebration. They've cancelled 4 of them.  This will be the first in ~15 months.

Since it's after 6 on Sunday and I'm normally finished with my usual Monday post long before now, the post is going to be a bit more audio visual than verbal.

We arrived about noon for the 1 o'clock start (the powers that be took attendance at Sunday Church into account), parked a couple of blocks away as all the parking on Main Street had been taken.  Fortunately this isn't our first rodeo parade and we had positioned my truck in our usual parade watching area the night before. Arrived, dropped the tailgate, set up the umbrella and camp chairs and waited for the festivities to begin.  

DIL and Mrs J hamming it up a bit.  Mrs J and I picked matching Tees for the occasion.

I noticed one of my former colleagues nearby, so went and said hello and chatted a bit.  Came back and saw that the spot next to us had opened up.  About this time, I noticed a guy driving down the street slowly.  Pointed at the spot and waved him in.

He parked got out of the car and introduced himself.  Said he and his fiancé were on vacation and now driving home.  I asked where home was, he said "Right now, San Francisco." 

Beans, I was polite.

I asked him about "Right Now?"

He said he was the last remaining Conservative in the city and was traveling to look at places to move to.

I laughed and we got on great.  They'd been down Bean's way and up to Tennessee and now in Texas.  

About then, the parade started.

With a flyover of course.

Since the parade started at the other end of town, it took a while to get to our position.  Yes, Beans, it was hot and humid and Mr Polka Dot is consuming a cool adult recreational beverage.  This is a German Town, it's permitted. 

The first parade vehicle (behind the pilot car schussing people out of the way) was festooned as it should be on this day.

A docent from the National Museum of the Pacific War was driving

Then came Uncle Sam (of course)

Then another vehicle from the Museum loaded with Veterans.

Finally realized that if I turned my phone sideways...

The requisite would-be beauty queens were well represented.

As were some vehicles from when Sarge and OldNFO started driving.

Sarge

OldNFO's Stanley Steamer

All in all, the parade shut down US 87 and US290 for about an hour.  And this young lady waved the flag for the entire time. My kind of America.

 T-Storms this evening will probably not allow us to watch fireworks.  MBD recorded the following of her in-law's back porch on the third.

*No Beans, not the movie, although we did watch it on the 3rd.

The Warpath is Decided Upon

(Source)

Ten Deer looked around at his fellow leaders, "Is it to be war again my friends? Do we help the English in their fight against the French and their Huron and Abenaki dogs? Why should we, the people of the flint¹ go to war? Are our crops not many, our hunting and fishing grounds rich? Why must we fight the white faces' war?"

Lone Elk lifted his hand, the others fell silent as the oldest warrior on the council indicated that he wished to speak. "My brothers, we have traditionally fought against the tribes from across the great Kaniatarakwà:ronte² and the French continue to encroach upon our lands from the north and from the west, with help from their Huron dogs. Of course, our traditional enemies would help the French. But are not the French and English also traditional enemies, much like the Huron and the Haudenosaunee?³ Their fight is now our fight."

A number of the men nodded and murmured their agreement with the old warrior. But one man, Long Canoe, was shaking his head in disagreement. The men ceased their murmuring and looked to him.

"We have spent many years fighting against the Abenaki and the Huron. We sought only to defend that which the Great Spirit gave to the people of the flint and their Haudenosaunee brothers and sisters. But now the white and red soldiers come and kill each other, they kill the peoples of this land, and for what? They mean to take it all, their numbers are as the stars in the sky. We kill many, many more come. I say we stay out of this war. If they come to our lands, then we fight, but we do not go to fight the red soldiers' wars. That is my opinion, but I will bend to the will of the council." Again the men talked quietly among themselves, Long Canoe had spoken the truth. But so had Lone Elk. Neither man was young enough to take to the warpath himself, but had tread that path many times in their youth. They only sought what was best for the people.

Finally Ten Deer, after having listened to the men, said, "I do not like the ways of the men from across the great waters, but the English have always kept their word with us, the men of the north, these French men, they lie to us and they arm our enemies the Huron and the Abenaki. We must follow the path to war with our English friends, for if we do not, war will come to these lands anyway."

Capitaine Jacques Marie Étienne Louis de Montparnasse had been sent by the great Marquis de Montcalm de Saint-Vera himself to seek out and hire such men of the coureurs de bois who would be willing to serve as scouts for the French army in New France and to bring as many of the natives with them to serve as auxiliaries.

The English were actively trading with the peoples of the Ohio country, an area claimed as part of New France. War was coming, blood had already been shed. A force was being gathered to completely eject the English and cow the tribes in the area from further trading with the English.

As the forces of King Louis XV were small in the New World, great reliance would be placed upon the colonial forces such as the Compagnies franches de la marine and other militia. Of the utmost importance was the support of the Iroquois and Abenaki Confederacies.

The Capitaine found himself sitting in an Abenaki longhouse with three of the Abenaki leaders and two of the local coureurs de bois, the Gaudry brothers. "You cannot begin to understand the importance the King places upon his Abenaki subjects in this war against les anglais. Surely you wish to see your Mohawk enemies crushed?"

Little Wolf turned to Alain and Jacques and said, in Abenaki, "Crushed? No. Humbled? Very much so. Do all of your countrymen think that killing is the only way to mend a problem? And since when did we start bowing to this Loo-ee?"

Alain answered, "No my brother, but it is the way of the kings and the nobles who sit in their fine houses. They send the little people to war, while they grow fat from the spoils. They are not like the wolf or the panther who hunts for his meals, no, they are like the carrion birds, feeding off that which someone else worked for."

"But do we help the king of les français, this Loo-ee?" Little Wolf wasn't convinced, he was content with his life here. His woman took good care of him, had given him a son and a daughter, he was loath to leave all that to go down the warpath once more.

Ugly Bear raised a hand, "The king of les français has been good to us. Les anglais keep coming and taking, they have pushed us further and further north. The Mohawk traverse our lands as if the Great Spirit had given them all the Earth. When do we stop running? When we are in the land of the snow people where the sun never shines? We must fight, we have no other choice if we are honest with each other."

Walks Slow nodded at the Frenchman, who was trying hard to contain his impatience, "Look at this man in his fine clothes and fancy hat, will he fight? Or will he stay in the cities and tell others to go fight?"

Alain nodded and addressed the Capitaine, "My sachem wonders if you will take the warpath with your Abenaki brothers, will this Montcalm do so as well? Or will you stay in Montréal and Québec and send others to die for the king in Paris?"

The Capitaine managed to contain his temper, how dare these rustics question his motives, nay, the motives and courage of the Marquis himself. He took a deep breath, then answered, "I will be marching with you. The Marquis will as well, we go into the wilderness to defeat les anglais and drive them from the Ohio forever. But first we must clear them from the area around the lake. For that I will dress as you do, I will eat as you do, I will fight as you do. In this, you have my word." The last came out almost as a snarl, a challenge.

Ugly Bear grinned and said, "I like this français, he snarls like a badger defending a kill. Tell him that we will go to war with him, this Badger With Feathers."

So it was done, so it would be, the brothers Alain, Jacques, and Little Wolf would go to war once more with les anglais, not in the uniforms of the Compagnies nor the uniform of King Louis XV, but as scouts and supports.

That night the Abenaki were pleasantly surprised when the Capitaine joined them in their war dance. It seems he liked his new name, the Badger With Feathers.



¹ The Kanienʼkehá꞉ka became wealthy traders as other nations in their confederacy needed their flint for tool making. Their Algonquian-speaking neighbors (and competitors), the people of Muh-heck Haeek Ing ("food area place"), the Mohicans, referred to the people of Ka-nee-en Ka as Maw Unk Lin, meaning “bear people”. The Dutch heard and wrote this term as Mohawk, and also referred to the Kanienʼkehá꞉ka as Egil or Maqua. (Source)

² The Mohawk name for Lake Champlain.

³ The People of the Longhouse, that is, the Iroquois Confederacy to which the Mohawk belonged.

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

The Storm Clouds Gather

(Source)

"You've sent a messenger to Number Five already I presume?" Lieutenant Colonel Samuel Jenkins asked the governor. He had his back to the man and was looking out over the ships anchored in the Piskataqua Harbor. Two transports just in from England and the frigate which had escorted them across the Atlantic.

"Yes Samuel, I took the liberty of doing so three days ago. The militia have already been mustered at Number Four, there seems to be no point in continuing to man Number Five. Especially as the natives seem to have evacuated the area." The governor poured himself another glass of port, then stepped away from his desk.

"I believe you know one of the company commanders from the 44th Foot, chap name of Jefferson. He's been here before." The Governor remarked.

Jenkins turned abruptly, "Surely not Will Jefferson?"

"The very same, so you do know him?"

"Yes, he led a band of Mohicans when I commanded at Number Five. Got them slaughtered he did, from what I recall. We never really did get along. He was always reminding me that a leftenant in the Foot Guards outranked a mere colonial captain. So now he's back?"

"Yes, he was mustered out of the Guards on account of his wound, officially. Unofficially the Crown was rather irked at his defeat by the Abenaki."

Jenkins thought for a few moments, swirled the remainder of his port, then downed it, slapping the glass down on the table. Which made the Governor jump, ever so slightly.

"Damn it man, must you always be so abrupt in your movements?"

"Sorry Sir. So we're to march to Number Five, then proceed north? To where I might ask?"

"Northwest actually, to Albany in New York. It seems that the Crown has designs on Fort Saint-Frédéric and Lake Champlain, as the French call it. But to get there from Albany I do believe Fort Carillon stands in the way. At any rate, our forces are gathering at Albany, for what purpose I am not privy to, just a glance at a map makes me look at the lake."

"That makes sense, my colonel has already sent a company ahead to build a fort at the conjunction of the Cannitticutt and the Upper Ammonoosuc Rivers. Once that's built, the company is to march to Fort Edward."

"Is that the company under Richard Rogers, that ranger chap?"

"It is Governor, it is indeed. Fellow is a bit of an adventurer from what I've heard."

"He knows the back country, that's for sure..." The Governor broke off as he saw the transports, which were now tied up at the wharf, begin to unload. "I say, that must be the 44th Foot, yellow facings, yes?"

Jenkins looked in that direction, damned if he could make out the colors of the facings. Damned Governor was showing off. As far as Jenkins knew, the 44th was the only unit disembarking in Portsmouth this day.

"Damned politicians," Jenkins thought.

"Sir! Natives approaching!"

Captain Rutland nodded at the Sergeant Major then went up to the ramparts to see what the fuss was. As he approached he heard, "English officer with 'em!"

After mustering the guard, Rutland had the gate opened, he was expecting a party of Mohawk Indians, this must be them. He half expected to see old Will Jefferson leading the Indians, now that man had been pretty effective in the wilderness, until he grew over-confident.

"Halloo the fort!" The Englishman shouted as he doffed his hat.

"Rutland, New Hampshire Provincials, Captain commanding this post. And you are?"

"Leftenant Rawlinson, Roger's Rangers. I trust you have received word of our coming?"

Rutland shook hands with the man, saying, "Yes, glad to make your acquaintance, your warriors look fit and ready. Are your men hungry Leftenant?"

"They are, but Dancing Bear, that's the big chap over there, wants to make camp and prepare their own rations. There's a likely spot down by the river..."

"Certainly Leftenant. Would you care for some of our boring, yet filling fare?"

"As long as you've got tea, I don't care what you feed me Sir!"

"Quite, come along then."

After a fine meal of Indian squash, beans, and a plump turkey, Lieutenant John Rawlinson sat back in his chair, "You make a fine meal, Mrs. Rutland. I dare say, if I might be so bold, that if I were your man, I fear I would have to buy new uniforms periodically to contain my ever expanding girth!"

Molly Rutland laughed and said, "Why thank you Leftenant, I think Edward would gain weight as well if it weren't for the stress of running the garrison here." Turning to her two sons, Daniel, eight, and Noah, five, she said, "Would you boys gather the plates and put them in the tub? Then run out to the well, get some water and heat it over the fire. We'll wash the dishes shortly."

"'Tis a fine family you have Captain! When we march for Albany will they go back to Rumford or perhaps back to the capital?"

Rutland shook his head, "Mrs. Rutland would scalp me if I tried to send her back to the towns. She loves it out here. When we march, she and the other families of the garrison will head south to Number Four."

"Is the Indian threat in this area that much diminished then?" Rawlinson asked, he was more familiar with the northern parts of New Hampshire and New York.

"The Abenaki have mostly moved north, closer to Canada and their French allies. They fought hard for this land, but we are so many and they so few. I tried to establish better relations with them, but they hate us. With good reason I might add. One of my predecessors at this post was not a friend to the Indians, he destroyed a village not far from here and put the people to the sword."

Rawlinson nodded, he understood why some Europeans wanted the Indians gone. For his part, he got along well with the natives. He never could understand why they couldn't co-exist, wasn't there enough land for everyone? He'd mentioned this once to another officer of the Rangers, who had said, "Plenty o' land in England too, doesn't stop the bloody lords from snapping up as much as they can, damnation to the poor peasants. They're all land hungry Johnnie, why would it be different here, in the New World?"

Rawlinson saw the man's point, but he also knew that many of the Europeans saw the natives as being somehow less than human. He shook his head at that, he knew many a fine man among the Mohawk, better men than many an Englishman he'd known.

"Leftenant. Leftenant?"

Rawlinson realized that he'd been daydreaming, "Sorry Captain, I'm afraid that I am far more tired than I thought. Your wife's cooking has made me rather sluggish I'm afraid."

"No worries Leftenant, go and get some rest. We can put you up here in the fort if you'd like?"

"Not necessary Sir, I'll camp with the Mohawk, wouldn't have it otherwise. If you'll excuse me?" Rawlinson stood up.

"Certainly Leftenant, sleep well. Have your men rest as well, I expect the rest of my regiment to be here in no more than three days time." Rutland stood and walked with Rawlinson to the gate.

"It certainly is lovely here, Sir." Rawlinson remarked as he watched the sun beginning to set across the river.

"Yes it is Leftenant, bloody shame we're always fighting over it."

"Indeed, I bid you good day Sir."

"Good evening Leftenant, I shall see you on the morrow."

A visit to the source below is highly recommended.
You can zoom in on the map in all it's colonial glory.
(Source)

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

New Beginnings

(Source)

Alain nodded to one of the village elders as he walked back to his longhouse. He and his brothers Jacques and Little Wolf had just returned from a successful trip out to their trap lines, they had taken many pelts. Some they would keep, many they would sell to les français up the river in Montréal.

It had been ten years since they had returned to the north after their foray into the territory of les anglais. At that time Little Wolf had been banished from his tribe due to his behavior on a raid. While the other warriors had taken part in killing the settlers and taking captives, Little Wolf had taken a single captive, an Englishwoman with yellow hair, he had run off with her into the forest. For that he had been ostracized.

But upon their return from the war along the Cannitticutt, Little Wolf had been reunited with his kin. He had taken many Mohican scalps and was now acclaimed as a great war chief.

The three men had gone into the wilderness to live with Little Wolf's people. Jacques and Alain had both taken wives and both men had fathered children. Jacques and his woman, Little Raven, had one son and one daughter who still survived. Alain and his woman, Strong  Willow, had only a single son, he was known as Pierre to the French and Little Badger to the Abenaki.

Their village was near the big lake the Abenaki called Pitawbagok, but which the French had named for their great explorer Samuel de Champlain. Most of the people Alain knew simply called it, The Lake.

Strong Bow, an Abenaki warrior, hailed Alain as he neared his longhouse. "Alain! A messenger has come in from les français!"

Alain had ceased reminding the Abenaki that he was himself French, but now he didn't, as far as he was concerned, he was Abenaki now. He spoke as one, he dressed as one, on his last trip to Montréal, the inhabitants there mistook he and Jacques for natives. He didn't mind that at all.

"What word comes from les français my friend?"

"War. Les anglais and les français are beating the war drums once more. Our Mohawk enemies across The Lake are receiving many gifts from the English king. The sachem is worried that we must again fight beside our French friends and their general Montcalm."

Alain realized that Strong Bow was excited at the prospect of another war. He couldn't blame him, the Abenaki warrior was familiar with raids and the like and enjoyed the action. But he might sing a different tune once he'd seen the power of the Europeans' massed firelocks and cannon.

(Source)

Will Jefferson adjusted his uniform coat once again, the damned tailor had made it too snug around the waist. His old wound still bothered him when the weather got wet, he needed a loose coat to try and alleviate that old ache.

He looked down the street with some impatience for his sergeant. The man had gone off with a recruiting party to bring in some last minute recruits. Hopefully he had convinced enough of the old soldiers in the area to rejoin the colors. They would have very little time to train raw recruits on the ship and probably no time at all once they reached the colonies.

It still rankled Jefferson that he had been mustered out of His Majesty's 1st Regiment of Foot Guards after he had returned to England to convalesce in 1745. Apparently the regiment wasn't very impressed with his service in America during King George's War. While he had had some success with his Mohicans, the battle in which he had been wounded had also seen the complete destruction of his warriors.

He still remembered the moment he had seen his friend Standing Wolf's scalp hanging from an Abenaki warrior's waist. He had been nearly sick to his stomach. When he realized that his friend's scalp had been taken by the man who had probably save his life, he had been sicker still. He understood that it was war, but the loss still rankled, both that of his unit and that of his friend.

But now he had been given a second chance. He had purchased a commission in a regiment of foot which had been raised back in '41 by a friend of his father. So once again his father's connections had helped in that regard. Though he was a younger son and stood to inherit nothing, his father still took an interest in his career. With war with France once more on the horizon, Jefferson was glad to be getting back into action. Besides which, it was better than being a vicar in some rural backwater, like his youngest brother Charles.

He saw his sergeant coming now, "Sergeant Duxford! How many?"

The burly sergeant gestured behind him, "Twenty lads Sir, sixteen of 'em are old soldiers, anxious to take the King's shilling once more, plus four lads as innocent as the day they was born. But they're keen Sir, awfully keen. They should make fine soldiers in the 44th!"

Jefferson looked at the men behind Duxford, he wouldn't use the word 'keen' to describe them, but at least they all appeared sober. Which made less of a dent in his company fund. "Very well Sergeant, get 'em aboard and settled. I'm told we sail with the evening tide."

(Source)

"Molly!" Captain Edward Rutland of the newly formed New Hampshire Provincial Regiment called out to his wife as he searched, in vain it would seem, for his gorget. He was about to go on duty and not wearing that item of vestigial armor was frowned upon.

Molly Rutland, née Henderson, walked into their sleeping chamber and pushed her husband aside. "Why is it so important Eddie? It's not like King George himself is going to inspect our little garrison."

"Rules Molly, an army lives by rules. If I show up on parade improperly dressed, what will the men think? What will Sarn't Major Jacobs think?" Rutland was only partially annoyed, he still loved his wife of eight years with a fierce passion. The woman had been held captive by the Abenaki, had seen combat in the forest first hand, she was no shrinking violet. Her personality suited him just fine.

"SIR!" came a bellowing voice from just beyond the door.

"Bollocks, speaking of the Sarn't Major..."

"Language Edward, you're not a sergeant anymore!"

"Yes love. Coming Sarn't Major!"

Link to all of the Chant's fiction.

Return to Sender

(Source)

"Are you sure about this Alain?" Jacques looked at his older brother with concern. What they were doing might be construed as treason in Québec, the capital of New France.

"Did you bother to tell Sergent Malheur of your plan?" Jacques asked his brother with some exasperation.

"Yes. And no." Alain answered.

Jacques looked puzzled, "That makes no sense mon frère, you either told him or you didn't."

Alain stood up from where he had been leaning against a tree, Little Wolf was coming, dragging two poles behind him. "This will work Alain, I made it strong enough to carry the anglais, but light enough so that two of us can pull it with ease." Little Wolf explained.

He then spread the poles on the ground, they were attached at one end in a "V" shape, bound at the top then held together with what appeared to be blood stained strips of leather running from one pole to the other. Little Wolf then nodded towards the unconscious English officer, "Help me load him."

Carefully they lifted Lieutenant Jefferson onto the device, which Alain later learned was called a travois by the French, the Abenaki called it a drag sled. Usually pulled by dogs, this was a larger version which the brothers, Abenaki and French, could use to take the Englishman to where they wanted. Without, apparently, Sergent Malheur's knowledge or blessing.

When Jefferson was strapped down, Little Wolf checked the man's wound once more, it wasn't bleeding but he applied more of the mud/plant mixture he had concocted and packed into the wound.

Jacques thought back to when the Abenaki had pulled his knife, the Englishman had passed out almost immediately, thinking that he was going to die.

Later, as Little Wolf extracted the ball from between two of the Englishman's ribs, then had scrubbed the wound with a rawhide pad and water, the Englishman had passed out again. As Little Wolf put it, "Even the strongest warrior swoons when his wound is cleaned like this. But it's the only way to make sure there is no foreign matter left behind."

Little Wolf had bound the wound tightly, essentially immobilizing the wounded man.

"Sergent?" Caporal Soult had had difficulty finding the sergeant in the fading light, they lit no fires and camped near where they had slaughtered the Mohican war party. After all, a fire would have attracted the Night Warriors, Little Wolf had told them what a bad idea that would be.

"Half of you or more they will kill in your sleep. The others will be taken to their village and tortured until you pray for death."

"No fires then, my Abenaki friend, we shall do as you say." Sergent Malheur had seen the wisdom of the thing.

"Where are the Gaudrys Little Wolf?"

"They are leaving, soon. Can you find your way back to Canada now?"

"Follow the river, stay on the eastern bank?"

"Yes Sergent, if you travel quickly, you should have no problems. Without the wounded man, you will travel faster still." Little Wolf still wondered if telling the French sergeant this was a good idea. But he noticed that Malheur nodded, then grinned.

"It has been a pleasure knowing you Little Wolf. I hope we meet again."

Malheur snapped out of his reverie, "What is it Paul?"

"The English lieutenant is gone, as are the Gaudrys and their Indian."

"I know Caporal, I know. Now quietly rouse the men, it will be dawn soon. When the sun begins to paint the eastern sky, I want to be on the river bank and moving north. Est-ce que ça tu convien?"

"Certainement, mon sergent."¹

As the sun rose over the valley of the Cannitticutt, the sentry on the westward facing rampart saw something which unnerved him.

"Sergeant of the guard! Sergeant of the guard!"

Sergeant Edward Rutland came out of the guardhouse near the gate rubbing his eyes. He had barely gotten to sleep when young Highsmith began his bellowing.

"Private, what's all this bloody nonsense? You'll awaken the entire garrison." As Rutland climbed up to the platform he saw what Lawrence Highsmith had seen. "Well done, laddie, call out the garrison."

The ringing of the alarm bell had the drummers on their feet and sounding assembly within seconds. Major Samuel Jenkins stood by Sergeant Major Edward Jacobs, who was mightily suppressing his own urge to yawn. "D'ya see it Sir?"

"Yes, I do. Rutland, give me ten good men. Sarn't Major, shall we go see who the chap wearing the scarlet coat of an officer is?"

"Very good Sir."

Lieutenant Will Jefferson, late of His Majesty's Foot Guards, awakened to a dull throbbing pain in his side. At first he was confused, then he remembered being ripped open by that Abenaki fellow, then patched up in rather rough fashion afterwards. Somehow he knew that the Indian had cut the ball from him. All things considered, he didn't feel too bad, stiff, oh God yes, but alive.

Looking up he saw Major Jenkins with a party of soldiers. Clearing his throat he managed to rasp out, "Good morning Major, I don't suppose I could trouble you for a drink of water? Tea if you have it?"

Jenkins shook his head, then said to Jacobs, "Get him into the fort Sarn't Major. I fear we shall have to listen to the Leftenant's tall tales for at least this day."

Jacobs snorted, "Yes Sir, I suspect we will."

Jenkins resisted the urge to ask where the lieutenant's war party was, he suspected they were dead or had fled into the forest. Jefferson was quite alone, and in very rough shape.

"Come along Sarn't Major, I don't want to be out here all day."

"Sir!"

- End of Part One, La Rivière -

¹ Does that suit you?

Certainly, my sergeant.

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